DÉJÀ VU - Chapter 5: Chapter 5

The room was dark, save for the weak, flickering light from the single bulb swinging overhead. The air was thick, choking, stinking of sweat, blood, and fear. The smell didn't bother me anymore; it felt right. Jerome's head was slumped forward, blood dripping slowly down his face, pooling on the floor. I could still see where my knuckles had left a mark, swelling his lip, painting his teeth red. The ropes holding him to the chair had his hands turning blue, but I made sure they were tight. Didn't want him thinking he had a way out.
I stood there, a cigarette hanging from my lips, smoke curling around my face. I had been watching him for hours, letting him stew, letting the fear settle into his bones. Fear was a powerful thing. Made people weak, pliable. It was what made this satisfying. Nah, necessary.
"Yuh know mi nuh like when people play wid mi life" I said, my voice low, almost casual, like I was talking to an old friend. I took a slow drag from the cigarette, letting the smoke fill my lungs, then exhaled, the ember flaring in the darkness. "An mi hate when dem try fi play wid mi woman."
Yuh wah now?
Jerome's head jerked up, eyes wide and bloodshot, like he didn't believe what he was hearing. I could see it, the panic, the desperation. He had been mumbling, pleading, but I wasn't listening. What would be the point? There was no forgiveness here. He had crossed a line, and this was the end of that.
"Yuh really think mi wuddn find out pussy?" I asked, stepping closer, the sound of my boots echoing against the concrete. "Mi know a you a di one who did a threaten Nai. Mi know yuh did wah scare har, make she talk 'bout Kyle. But a deh suh yuh fuck up chawgie"
I flicked the cigarette, the ash falling onto his lap. It was just a small burn, barely enough to hurt, but I saw him flinch. Good. That was just the beginning. I leaned in close, till my face was right in front of his, and I could see every tear, every drop of sweat clinging to his skin.
"Yuh shoulda never mess wid mi, or di people mi care 'bout."
Jerome's mouth moved, his words coming out as a weak, broken whisper. "Kairo... please... mi never mean fi–"
Before he could finish, my fist cracked across his mouth. His head snapped back, and I could feel the sting in my knuckles, the warm splatter of his blood on my hand. I didn't care. If anything, it felt good. Real good. Like letting go of a weight that had been dragging me down for days.
"Yuh never mean fi wah?" I said, my voice rising, letting the anger slip out. "Fi try blackmail Xanai? Fi mek her fret till she cyan sleep?" I stepped back, looking at him, letting my words sink in. "Nuh badda beg now, Jerome. A yuh mek dis happen."
I walked over to the table in the corner of the room, my eyes scanning the tools laid out neatly. A blowtorch, a knife, pliers... each one had its purpose, and I had planned it all out in my head. I picked up the blowtorch, testing the flame, watching it flicker and dance. The hiss filled the silence, and I saw Jerome's eyes widen, saw his body tense against the ropes. He knew what was coming, and that made it all the sweeter.
"Mi a gi yuh one last chance fi talk," I said, even though I already knew there was nothing he could say to stop what was about to happen. "Why yuh did a text har? Why yuh did a threaten fi expose har? When a deeven she duh nuhn!"
Jerome was shaking now, tears running down his cheeks, mixing with the blood. "Kyle... a mi bredda... an mi just... mi just waan know wah really happen to him... I thought... maybe if mi pressure her–"
I cut him off, bringing the blowtorch close to his leg. The flame licked at his skin, burning through the fabric of his pants, searing his flesh. He screamed, his body jerking, trying to get away, but there was no escape. The smell of burning flesh filled the room, thick and foul, but I didn't stop. I pressed the torch harder, watched as his skin bubbled and blackened, his screams echoing off the walls.
"Yuh think yuh a detective?" I snarled, pulling the torch away, leaving a charred patch on his thigh. "Yuh want answers? Mi can gih yuh an answer. But fuck wid mi woman? Mi nah tek dat."
Woah there bud, nuh unu seh unu a bestie??
He was panting, gasping, his body twitching. "Please... please, mia beg yuh..."
I looked at him, and for a moment, I almost felt something. But it passed. I set the blowtorch down and picked up the knife, running my thumb along the blade. Sharp. Just the way I needed it. "Yah beg fah? Yah battybwoy? ," I ask quietly. "Nuh beg mi fi nun, mi nuh love man,"
I grabbed his arm, forced it out straight, and slowly brought the knife to his skin. The blade cut deep, slicing through muscle, splitting flesh. Jerome screamed, his voice raw and hoarse, but I kept going. Blood spilled out, hot and slick, running down my hands. I dragged the knife along his forearm, peeling back the skin, inch by inch, until it hung loose, exposing the raw, red tissue beneath.
"Mi waan yuh feel every second of dis," I whispered, my voice steady, my hand sure. "Dis fi teach yuh seh mi nuh play."
I kept cutting, methodical, precise, listening to his screams, feeling the way his body shook under my grip. The sound echoed in the room, but it didn't bother me. I didn't stop until both his arms were raw and bloody, the skin peeled back, leaving him exposed. He was barely conscious by then, his head slumped forward, his breath shallow, but I wasn't done.
I chuckled before speaking, "Yuh waan fi know wah happen to Kyle?"
"Mi mek sure him never get fi hurt nobody again. Same ting mi a do to yuh."
I picked up the blowtorch again, ignited it, and brought it to his chest, watching as the flame danced over his skin. I could see the terror in his eyes, see the way he tried to pull away, but he couldn't. Jerome's screams were weaker now, his voice cracking, but I didn't stop. I let the fire consume him, watched as the skin blackened and peeled away, as the smell of burnt flesh filled the room.
Finally, when I was sure he had suffered enough, I turned off the blowtorch and stepped back. Jerome's head lolled to the side, his eyes dull, barely conscious. I raised the knife one last time, and with a swift, clean motion, I sliced across his throat, letting the blood pour out, ending it.
The room was silent now, just the faint drip of blood hitting the floor. I stood there, my hands stained red, my chest heaving, and I felt... nothing. Just empty. But there was something there, a dark, twisted satisfaction, knowing that I had done what I needed to do. Jerome was gone, and nobody, nobody, would ever threaten Xanai again.
Nobody, and mi mean no-bloodclaat-body, nah fuck wid Xanai.
Mi twin dat. Fight to di end fi har.
February 2nd | One Week Earlier
The texts from the unknown number had bothered me. I couldn't let it go. I reached out to my contacts, people who knew how to dig up information that others couldn't. It didn't take long to get a name: Jerome Edwards, Kyle's older brother.
I remembered Kyle. We had crossed paths once, a brief, tense interaction, and then he disappeared. I hadn't thought about it again until now. Jerome had been digging, trying to find out what happened to his brother, and he thought threatening Xanai would give him answers.
But I didn't care about Jerome's reasons. All I cared about was making sure no one ever tried to hurt Xanai again.
And now, standing over Jerome's lifeless body, I knew I had done just that.